Page 31 of Dissection of a Murder
“Yes, Audrey. I’ve done this for a while now.”
She looks into my eyes, trying to find the truth. They dart around, not fully settling on anything. She looks lost.
“I’m sure you’re right, darling!” She smiles. “See you Friday!”
As I tidy, I do a quick sweep of the house, just to make sure everything is in order.
The landing creaks as I walk past every room. The house has four bedrooms, three of which are unused. They all look undisturbed, the same every week. It’s charming in a classic, old-fashioned way.
Take the small, front bedroom, for example. Opening the bedroomdoor, I press the light switch, which illuminates the entire room in a dazzling yellow glow. It resembles a movie set from the 1960s. The double bed is neatly made, draped in a floral bedspread. The mahogany wardrobe in the corner shows no signs of being disturbed. A vintage dressing table hosts a large mirror, with all kinds of trinkets and ornaments carefully placed on the shiny surface.
So many valuables. So many cherished memories. It makes me feel sick to think anyone could simply walk into this house uninvited. She needs to start locking that door.
14
Leila
10:23 p.m.
Julian arrives homenot long after me. The smell of whiskey follows him around. He pours himself another one after throwing his suit jacket on the armchair, something he only ever does when he’s incredibly stressed out. Slumping onto the sofa opposite me, he removes his tie while flicking through his phone.
“Good night?” I ask, in an attempt to drag him out of the weird state he’s in. He doesn’t reply, clearly preoccupied with whatever—or whoever—he’s dealing with. This is the hazard of being married to a barrister. It’s not a nine-to-five job. There’s always an email to deal with, some evidence to review.
“Julian? Did you have a good night?”
He shoots me a surprised look, as if he’s only just realized I’m here.
“What? Oh, yes, darling.”
“Who was out?”
“Usual crowd.”
“Where did you go?”
“Advocacy skills 101?” He laughs. This is an inside joke between us. It’s difficult not to appear to be cross-examining someone when you’re asking questions. “Just had a few in the Elvet.”
“I’ve been to see your mum.”
“How is she?” he asks, tapping on his phone without looking up.
“She’s getting worse every week, Julian. I think you should go and see her. She was asking about you again.”
He throws his phone down beside him on the sofa and puts his feet up on the coffee table.
“It’s hard seeing her like that. She’s not the woman I remember. I appreciate you going over there, but you don’t have to.”
Walking over, I sit next to him and swing my legs over his knees. Putting his phone away in his trouser pocket, he slides his hands over my legs.
“I just want to help her,” I tell him.
“But you’ve got your own life. You should be out on a Friday night with your friends, not staying in and playing backgammon with my mother! Why don’t you tell her you’re busy from now on?”
“I couldn’t do that,” I tell him. “I’d feel bad lying to her, and she looks forward to me going.”
“Well, I’ll pay for some help to go in.”
“Please don’t. She’d hate that. But it’d make her day if you popped by,” I tell him softly, slipping my hand into his hair, which finally raises a smile from him.
